


candlelight

by orphan_account



Series: fade to black [2]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1963, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Tenerife, more specific content warnings per chapter, so many tiny useless flashbacks oh my god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Tenerife, spring 1963. Three-fourths of the Beatles decide to crash Klaus’s birthday getaway in the Canary Islands. George has been nerve-wracked about the imminent stardom of his band and seeks the familiar darkness he has with Klaus.A sequel to “fade to black”. Originally was supposed to be a one-shot, but it got too long so ended up being split into multiple parts. Please enjoy!
Relationships: Astrid Kirchherr/Stuart Sutcliffe (past), George Harrison/Klaus Voormann
Series: fade to black [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1585981
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	1. vast snake

Suddenly, it’s spring again.

The warmth is here, just like it was two years ago. But it blazes here in the sweltering sun that would have made for an uncharacteristically scorching season back home in Germany. But this is Spain and things are a little different here. The hazy white lights had been steadily increasing in intensity over the past couple of years, but as soon as he stepped foot here it had for some reason dulled and left him with a half-hearted sense of relief. He suspects that the comfort of the shadows is only temporary though; soon he will be forcefully thrusted back into the blinding fray, all that’s left of his form to be disfigured by the limelight.

George recalls the house they’re staying at for the duration of the getaway and is once again reminded of Klaus’s affluence. Judging by the simplistic state of his small flat and sleepy-looking sweaters and jeans, he would have never known how well off his family really was. George would never dream of owning even a decent home, let alone multiple. And this sports car is probably the third most gorgeous thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. His guitar would have to be the second, obviously, but if ever asked (which maybe he would one day in the near future), he’d say it was the first, because the real first happened to be Klaus. But he wasn’t exactly ready to put that on display quite yet. Maybe he would never. Who knows.

Speaking of the sports car, when he begged Klaus to let him “have a whirl” in it, the man did not so much as hesitate to entrust George with the wheel, despite the fact that they had literally just arrived from Britain, were somewhat tipsy, and that it may as well have been somewhere in the vicinity of three in the morning. 

So off go George and Klaus, speeding through the chirping countryside with gleeful abandon. Occasionally the brush to the side of the road would be sparse enough for them to get a glimpse at the unbounded ocean, dancing and writhing haplessly in the drench of the moon. They exchange no words, but Klaus’s right hand resting gingerly on George’s thigh says everything he could ever want to know.

After several minutes, he finds a nice off-path to stop at. It’s a branch off of a road that winds all the way down to the shore, somewhat atop a rocky cliff that offers a fantastic view of the waters. The engine comes off and the two are left in freedom for themselves, overlooking the endless sea.

“The ocean is a vast snake,” Klaus murmurs thoughtfully. “Look at it slither. Look at its shining scales. It’s alluring, maybe even enchanting, but it wraps around you and swallows you whole. Don’t you just feel like jumping in sometimes? It’s terribly tempting. Even back in Hamburg, sometimes I’d be near the docks, and it would beckon me.”

George mulls over the words, almost a suggestion, though it’s offered in nonchalant terms. Klaus’s English has gotten better, almost impeccable if only not for the hints of an accent left in residue. Still, the way he talks is never particularly concise. The dreaminess, the longing in his voice is a constant. It’s a similar feeling you’d get if you were conversing with someone and they’d make the attempt to maintain eye contact, but you could tell that even if their eyes were fixed in your direction, they’d really be elsewhere, almost staring through you instead of at you.

“It’s probably dark down there,” George concedes. For any other person, this would have been a negative response. But these two know each other too well for such a remark to be misinterpreted. “It’s dark and nobody would find ever find us.”

“Yeah,” Klaus whispers, and they resume their prior silence, knowing what the other is thinking. 

There isn’t any point in prolonging the inevitable, George thinks, so he reaches over and tugs Klaus into a long-awaited kiss, one he’s been aching for since he got here... no, even longer than that. A kiss he’s been aching for since the last time he had seen Klaus when he left Hamburg with the band the year before. And it’s just as fulfilling as he remembers it had been the first time, all the way back in that dark, tiny apartment almost exactly two years ago. George runs his hands through his hair and Klaus earnestly returns the gesture, which is more easily done now that they have the same loose hairstyle. There is no more fussing about trying not to mess up the carefully-sculpted quiff, as much inconvenient as it was attractive, the bloody thing. Klaus’s hands move freely, stocky fingers lightly squeezing at the locks and thoroughly enjoying the sensation.

“So, gonna be twenty-five, huh?” George nudges gently after he pulls away. “They say it’s all downhill from here, y’know. Better make it count.”

Klaus grins back sheepishly.“Just for this moment? It’s all worth it.”


	2. the ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George and Klaus return to their home and reminisce about times and friends of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings for the following:
> 
> discussion of death
> 
> mentions of suicidal thoughts

George turns off the headlights as they approach the house—“So we don’t wake the others up”, he explains to Klaus quietly, who nods in return. And they continue to behave discreetly as they enter the house and make their way to their sleeping quarters. This seems to come naturally to both of them. Klaus walks in such a way that his footsteps evoke no complaints from the floors beneath his soles, as if he were a mouse. George is not so delicate, despite his efforts, but this is a nice house, unlike most of the dwellings he has haunted throughout his life, so the floorboards do not weep as he steps over them. 

It would have made sense for Klaus to opt for the master bedroom, since the house belonged to his father, but he had chosen one of the smaller side bedrooms instead, one with two smaller beds instead of one large one. He said he did not like large beds or spaces, and anyway, this arrangement made it easier for George to sneak closer to him.

The master bedroom was then offered to Astrid, but she curtly refused and said the bed would feel too big—and lonely without Stu, is what George imagined her adding, though she did not say it out loud. So she stays in one of the smaller bedrooms as well, while Paul gets the master bed and Ringo stays in the last smaller room.

George almost didn’t recognize Astrid when he saw her upon arriving. Paul also had to do a double take. She had grown out her hair to a “normal” length, and had traded out her pitch-black ensemble for a floral sundress. On any other girl, this would be a standard look, but on Astrid it felt _wrong_. Not that she didn’t look pretty, because with her looks she could probably pull off any outfit she wanted, but it simply felt like it wasn’t... _her_. He greeted her once he got close enough, somewhat confounded, and she nodded her reply, seeming to know what he was thinking about her new style. She always seemed to know.

“I think... that’s how she is grieving,” Klaus ponders out loud once the two of them have managed to retreat to their shared room. 

“How? She looks so cheery now.”

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Klaus shrugs and sits down on the bed, motioning for George to perch next to him. “Back then, she always dressed like she was going to a funeral. For normal people, cutting your hair short and wearing all black is something you only do when mourning someone’s death. But she already looked like that anyway.” He pauses to lick his lips and then motions with his hands as George watches. “So if that’s just what you look like all the time, what do you do when you actually have to mourn someone’s death? You could stay like that, but then it’ll look like nothing’s changed for you. So she decided to do the opposite instead, and grow her hair out and wear bright colors. And it’s so... what do you call it? ‘Out of character’. It’s so out of character for her. Like... like her old self died along with him.”

Klaus’s voice cracks at that last bit. He lowers his hands down to his lap with a defeated tremble. A brief silence blankets over their heads, a moment to grieve alongside her.

It feels like Stu has still been haunting them to this day. Astrid is controlled and collected in public but George knows she’s been dying inside this whole time. He has nightmares about the whole ordeal every now and then. Everyone was afraid that Astrid would try to do something terrible to herself so that she could join her departed soulmate on the other side and he can’t say that the fear has completely left him. Klaus was especially paranoid of the idea and wouldn’t leave her side for the longest time. In the end, it feels like she’s only still here because she knows that killing herself would upset her mother sorely.

Stuart was a brave soul that kept on conspiring to paint, even down to the moment he dropped dead. George likes to think that those shadows he sees flickering in the corner of his eye sometimes are remnants of him, watching over his old friends. It’s probably a childish thought but it brings him comfort to think that he continues to exist in this world somehow.

“He was a good friend,” George finds himself saying as Klaus clasps his arms around his back comfortingly, whispering because he’s so choked up that it’s hard to raise his voice. “He should’ve gotten to be famous like us. He was going to do so much...” Klaus just nods, looking almost sick with tears. It’s like Astrid’s grief has permeated the house. Maybe the others are crying silently in their own rooms. Maybe John is crying along with Brian all the way in Barcelona. 

Maybe Stuart is crying.

George and Klaus are tightly entwined with one other under the covers when they fall asleep. They have each other now, even if only for a few more days, and nothing will get in between them now, not grief nor birds nor friends, absent or otherwise. Like the first time they kissed, Klaus’s lips are sweet and tinged with the salt of tears, though that could just as easily be George’s own. The taste lingers as they drift off together, embraced by the familiar darkness that has been a sanctuary to them ever since.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! they encourage me to put out content more frequently, so please let me know if you’d like to see more.


End file.
